Invasion
by Spiritslayer
Summary: Daedra attack a Thalmor-controlled Skyrim almost daily and weaken they who would keep the daedra from destroying the rest of Tamriel. Faced with impossible odds, several heroes will have to set aside their differences and work together before Skyrim is set to the flames of Oblivion - and hope they survive their deadliest adventure yet... (M for language, violence... maybe more?)
1. Chapter 1

_22nd of Last Seed, 4E 214_

 _Those fools back in Alinor thought this a foolish gamble. They believed the Nords would push us back if we tried to reestablish ourselves in Skyrim. Perhaps they would have, had they been better organized. As it stands, however, we not only succeeded in taking Skyrim, we have also successfully held it - even despite the very unexpected problem Skyrim now faces._

The Altmer writing in his journal paused and looked up when he heard knocking on his door. He sighed wearily, set his quill down, and shut his journal; no sense making others aware of his thoughts. "What is it?"

"M'lord, a report came in. Falkreath." Another Altmer was the one who answered his inquiry, her voice familiar. She opened the door and stepped inside - then froze in place as she realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. "I-I'm so sorry-" she stammered.

"Bah," he said, waving it off. If he was being honest, he didn't mind this particular lady see him in such a way. "Nothing to apologize or worry over. What's this report, then?"

"Er... yes." She coughed nervously, then approached him, her gaze averted to one corner of his spacious stone room.

It was once the bedchamber of Jarl Elisif the Fair. That had been before he had taken over the position of leadership in Solitude - and, in fact, all Skyrim. Much of the decor remained the same, as he was not particularly picky; the only change he had made to the chamber was to drape a few banners of the Aldmeri Dominion about the room's walls.

"M'lord?" She wasn't looking at him, but she did have the report extended toward him - and he hadn't taken it. His mind had been elsewhere. "Is something-"

"Nothing is wrong, so to speak," he commented, "but if there's news from Falkreath, I'm assuming not all is right, either." He reached out and took the report, then looked back at her. "Sit and rest."

"I... if you insist." She looked for a seat somewhere and away from him, then sat facing away from him and looking out a window, watching the Sea of Ghosts to the north.

"I'm not that difficult to look at, am I?" he mused. She glanced back at him after he spoke, then looked away again, her cheeks faintly red. He knew he was far from perfect: his body was muscular, a sign of his martial prowess. Scars marred his chest, making it clear exactly how much combat he had actually seen. Many thought him too young to know how to fight such battles and survive, while those who saw the scars knew he was tougher and wiser than anyone else truly knew. His short brown hair was usually slicked back, but he let it hang loosely about his face for the time being. The only clothing he wore was a pair of dark brown leather leggings; in his chambers as he'd been, he felt comfortable this way.

"Er... no, m'lord," she murmured, "but it's... well..."

He sighed and strode to the tall wardrobe, threw its doors open, and picked a shirt at random. He took a moment to throw it on, then sniffed lightly. "Better?" He hoped it was; this black woolen shirt was already making some of his scars itch.

She looked back at him and nodded lightly. She was no longer looking intently out the window.

"Falkreath." He had the missive in his hand once more, and was opening it to read. "Did it finally fall to-"

"No, m'lord," she began.

"Call me Orindil," he sighed, rubbing his temples briefly. Sometimes, he didn't like being the acting High King... the True King, as his subordinates had taken to calling him. Oh, he enjoyed flaunting it over the Nords, but when his fellow mer - this woman in particular, at that - gave him the respectful titles, he felt... odd. "For that matter, I'm afraid I don't know you as well as I'd like. What's your name?" The more he thought about it, he realized this was his first time actually talking with her. They'd seen each other before, exchanged pleasantries when passing each other... but never actually spoken.

"Er... I'm Sevarie, m'lord Orindil," she said. "Scout, runner..."

"Drop the 'm'lord' and you're fine." His eyes went back down to the missive. Falkreath had come under attack again. Daedra, as he'd expected.

It had been a very nasty surprise for the Dominion shortly after they'd begun assaulting Windhelm. They had seen the columns of light, of course, and had seen them move, seen them intersect. They had seen the sphere form between them, swell to an uncomfortably large size. They had even seen another column of light appear, this one descending to the ground directly beneath the sphere.

Word had reached Orindil but a week later to tell him that daedra, unlike any they'd seen before, had destroyed the city of Whiterun. Many of its residents had evacuated under the leadership of the former Jarl, Balgruuf the Greater, so civilian casualties were remarkably low. For the Dominion forces that had remained behind, however, there was no such fortune; the report had said that for every daedra that fell, three more seemed to take their place. Every last mer who opposed the infernal force had perished trying to repel the daedra from Whiterun. The city itself was as ashes and dust within an hour of the daedra's victory. From its charred corpse had risen a peculiar structure: a citadel of what looked to be white marble with rounded edges. The daedra swarmed about it, affirming all belief that the citadel was theirs.

Whiterun Hold had since belonged to the daedra, and the residents of Skyrim gave it a wide berth. Travel from one side of the province to the other either took people through Morthal and the Pale, or through the Reach and Falkreath. The daedra were seemingly aware of this, for they made regular targets of Falkreath with small raiding parties. So far, the Dominion had managed to repel every last raid... but their own numbers were rapidly dwindling. Dominion reinforcements were a month and a half away in Alinor, while the daedra got their reinforcements directly from the column of light that descended upon Whiterun Hold.

Thus, Orindil had been surprised to hear Falkreath still stood. The last report he'd received had suggested they wouldn't survive another raid. He had sent a handful of reinforcements, not to fight the daedra off - he wasn't going to condemn perfectly good mer to a grisly and pointless death - but to see the city evacuated once the daedra were spotted advancing once more. To learn they'd instead stood against the daedra, and with minimal casualties... most certainly a surprise.

He was surprised further as he continued to read the report. The raiding party had been much smaller than the past several attacks, which was likely the reason the soldiers had stood their ground; in addition, the raiding party had been flanked by... he laughed as he read the next part of the report.

"Orindil?" Sevarie was looking at him in concern.

"I'm to believe bandits helped thwart this attack?" he mused, waving the report around lightly. "That the scum of the province actually did some good for a change?"

"I was there, sir, and saw the bandits flank the daedra myself," she murmured. "Once the last of the daedra fell, the bandits withdrew before any of the other soldiers could stop them and speak with them. I know not why the bandits made such a bold move, but they did. They probably saved Falkreath in the process."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, eyes scanning the report once more. This was the first instance in which bandits helped the Dominion defend against an attack anywhere. Did that mean they finally saw the dangers the daedra posed to Skyrim - to them, as well? Were they just acting to save their own skins?

"You, Sevarie, will remain here in Solitude for a time. Another will bear my orders for Falkreath." He sat at the desk upon which his journal still sat, opened the top drawer, and withdrew a blank roll of paper.

"Orders?" she echoed.

"For Falkreath," he repeated. "You've had a long and hard journey. You've earned some rest." He began to write after some thought. "I'd have one or two of these bandits detained so we can ascertain their exact purpose-"

"Er... about that," Sevarie said slowly. He paused and turned in his seat to regard her as she rummaged through the small satchel hanging over her side. He had been smitten with her at first sight: long blonde hair, oftentimes pulled into a ponytail - this was such a case - but otherwise hanging loosely, bright amber eyes that now searched the inside of her satchel, a rather lovely figure, typically complimented by her clothes - her armor tended to hide it, as it now was... And that had been before he had first seen her smile, had first heard her soft and kind voice. She was kind, so very kind... to her fellow mer, that was. His admiration of her had spiked considerably when she had used one of the sharpest and toughest voices he'd ever heard when she reprimanded a Nordic youth for bumping into her by accident. The fact that she was apparently a very talented scout and runner, as evidenced by the fact that she'd made it to Solitude in one piece, made her all the more attractive in his eyes.

Of course, she was now blushing profusely, tinting her golden cheeks a rather lovely shade of red. "Er... why are you staring at...?"

He hadn't realized he had been staring for so long, but as he blinked a couple of times, he realized she was now standing very near him and had a rough letter outstretched toward him, her satchel closed once more. He reached out and took the letter, then set it upon the desk. "I was admiring you," he said. It was true, of course; it was hard not to admire efficiency in this present-day incarnation of Skyrim.

She apparently took it another way, for she looked away, her blush intensifying a bit. "Y-You shouldn't say such things to a lowly scout such as me," she stammered.

"A 'lowly scout' does not return to Solitude several times in one piece, as you have," he replied with a chuckle. "A 'lowly scout' usually loses something: a finger, a hand, a foot, an arm, a leg, their life, their mind..." He had seen it all by now. He was fairly sure there would one day be scouts returning with injuries he hadn't thought it possible to survive.

She glanced back at him and offered a small smile... that kind, lovely smile. "I... thank you," she replied. She was quiet a moment, but unmoving. As he began to read the letter she'd presented him with, she spoke up again. "If I may be so bold... they were wrong, back home. You... you do know what you're doing, and you've done it very well. It was risky to come here, but it's risky to go anywhere lately."

He flashed a smile of his own at her. So she was not one of those who thought him a reckless fool that had condemned the Dominion forces he'd taken to Skyrim. That was even better in his eyes. "Why... don't you join me for dinner this evening?" he ventured after a moment's pause. "That we may speak some more?"

Her eyes widened and she gasped softly, but she also nodded lightly. "I... I wouldn't mind that," she said, voice quiet and mildly disbelieving. The ghost of a smile, however, showed she approved of the invitation.

"Excellent. I'll send for you, then. For now, go on and rest. You've most certainly earned it." He watched as she bowed her head to him, nodded at her in turn, and watched her leave his room. Once he heard the door close, he sighed in content.

Things were going his way. His superiors back in Alinor were upset that a Vindicator had, entirely of his own volition and without filing the necessary forms, taken on countless volunteers and commandeered a fleet of ships to sail for Skyrim. They had said he was a fool, that he was only leading the volunteering soldiers to their deaths, that Skyrim would be his grave. And yet, here that Vindicator now sat, the acting High King of Skyrim, receiving occasional reports as to one problem or another - always daedra related, given how craven the Nords had become - and to top everything off, he had just secured a dinner date with, in his opinion, the loveliest Altmer he'd ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon. He had even received reluctant praise from those back home for his success, and they had seen fit to send reinforcements a few times now... though that was more of a petty victory for him. Everything was just right for him, and he was content.

As he went to stand up and reached down to grab the bottom of his woolen shirt, the letter upon the desk caught his eye once more. He paused a moment, then decided to pull the shirt off once more; it still aggravated his scars a little. With that removed, he snatched the letter up off the desk once more and began reading it anew. As he did, however, his eyes narrowed slightly and a small growl escaped his throat. In irritation, he tossed it aside carelessly, not caring that it fluttered too close to the candle upon his desk.

So perhaps there was one thing not going his way. It was a minor trifle compared to everything else he had to deal with. Even so, he shot the letter one last look before stepping away from his desk. The words upon the letter were still fresh in his mind, and try as he might to dismiss them, they would not fade.

 _False King Orindil,_

 _On the 22nd of Last Seed, 4E 214, I shall be joining you for dinner. There is much to discuss, things you are oblivious to but must know. Make your lackeys aware; I will kill any who dare stand between me and the Blue Palace. Refuse me, and you will not live to see the 23rd._

 _Ignore me at your own peril,_

 _Larian Ravell_

 _Bandit Queen of Skyrim_

* * *

For most of her life, she had looked upon kings and queens as pompous fools with not a clue as to what was best for their people or lands, only themselves and their castle homes. 'A king is only interested in fattening his treasury and his waist,' her late chief had said when she was fourteen.

Larian had since grown up to realize it was not always true. Ulfric Stormcloak, for example, had done his best to ensure the well-being of all the proud Nordic citizens of Skyrim. He had treated the other races as an afterthought, and rarely fulfilled their requests in a timely manner; he never fulfilled them if they ran counter to what the Nords desired.

Then there were the bandits. The outlaws, the thugs, the highwaymen, the fugitives, the rebellious... all eventually came into their own as bandits. They were the hardy survivors of an otherwise hostile realm, forced to pillage, steal and kill to survive. Of course it made them enemies of the upstanding citizens of Skyrim and the pompous High King, but such was their lot in life, and they had learned to accept it. Even so, the bandits had long been splintered, doing things their own way. One clan would take prisoners and torture for fun; another took no prisoners, only killed everyone. One clan would harass cities for resources, such as food, leather, armor and weapons; another would attack cities simply to remind the citizens within that they existed.

Larian had always been discontent with the fragmented lifestyles of the bandits, and so almost three years ago, she had - at the urging of an accursed bastard, admittedly - united every last bandit clan under her. Bandits of Skyrim answered to her, and she answered to none but herself. Under her, bandits had become an even more dangerous threat to contend with; not even the High King's Stormcloaks had been able to stand against them. Under Larian's guidance, the bandits became as dangerous a threat by day as vampires and werewolves were by night... sometimes, bandits were even more dangerous still.

Then the daedra had come and started to ravage everything. Citizen, vampire, werewolf, dragon, bandit... nothing was spared their nihilistic glee. They destroyed and destroyed, all for the fun of it, never for anything such as resources. Skyrim bled, and that was enough for the daedra.

Larian, of course, knew more about the daedric threat than most others did. She knew how to put an end to it... if not the path to that point. She knew from whence the daedra came, knew who their self-centered bastard of a Lord was.

She also knew that if there was truly to be any hope for Skyrim, she had to stop operating from the shadows of Mzinchaleft and make her presence known. Optimally, she would have approached Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King who probably knew just as much about the daedra as she did... if not a little less.

Ulfric, however, had vanished from Skyrim the day Windhelm had come under siege by the Thalmor. He had turned craven and run away from the elves, a point the Thalmor were all too pleased to tell the despairing Nords of Skyrim. Many had lost their faith in Ulfric, and very few citizens resisted the Thalmor when Orindil called himself High King - True King, rather. Under his guidance, Skyrim remained stable... bleeding out to the daedra, but stable. Larian had to admit he was doing a good enough job keeping Skyrim from collapsing... but he couldn't do it forever. He would die one day, as would she, and those which would succeed both of them would inherit a Skyrim far worse than it presently was.

That was what brought her out of Mzinchaleft, which Larian had chosen to live in since the Daedric Invasion of Skyrim had begun, and to find herself seated directly across from a scowling high elf, whose arms were crossed over his clothed chest.

Larian had forgone simple clothing. She had entered Solitude wearing her trusty scaled armor, as well as her crimson cloak. The presence of her greatsword put many on edge, but apparently, Orindil had received her warning in time; none drew weapons on the woman clearly in defiance of Orindil's 'no weapons in public' law. It marked her as a breaker of rules, an outlaw... a bandit. They were expecting but one bandit, and but one bandit had entered Solitude, weapon strapped to her back.

The Bandit Queen had come to Solitude, and was even shown to the Blue Palace by a few high elven guardsmen.

She knew it was a fact that did not please Orindil, nor the young eleven woman sitting at his right. The three were the only ones seated at the table, a feast sitting before them. Larian was of a mind to dismiss the female mer, but decided it didn't really matter.

"You realize," Orindil finally said, after several long minutes of utter silence, "that were it not for this... information you claim to have, I'd have had you killed that second you entered Solitude."

"You'd have tried," Larian replied with a small smirk, "and you'd have failed. All you would have succeeded in doing is sending elves to their easily avoidable deaths. I did not become Bandit Queen on my good looks alone, you know."

He scoffed at this, but offered no retort. "Tell me what you know, then, and be gone from my sight," he snapped. "And so help me if you think to insult-"

"As tempting as that is, _my lord_ ," she interrupted, laying the sarcasm as thick as she could on the last two words, "you needn't worry about that. I come to speak of the daedra that threaten citizen, elf and bandit alike."

His brow was raised as she spoke, and the female mer's eyes widened a little. It was at his gesture, however, that Larian continued.

"Obviously you know they plague Skyrim at very chance they get, notably Falkreath and Morthal."

"I have received no reports that Morthal suffers attacks from the daedra," he sniffed.

"That's because someone else intercepts their raiding parties as they march north through Labyrinthian," Larian replied. She hoped the small grin at her lips would convey the 'who'.

It did, for he laughed. "I'm to believe your scum stop daedra at every turn?" he mocked.

"Not every turn," she agreed, "and in fact, if the daedra didn't march toward Morthal so frequently, it may not be the case even there. However, it is the case, and because the bulk of my bandits are situated in the north near Morthal, we have an easy time thwarting their small raiding parties, long before they reach the city. You're welcome for that, by the way."

He only scoffed at her words, but offered no rebuttal. After a moment longer, he spoke once again. "Yes, I know about the daedra plaguing Skyrim," he said coolly. "What is your point?"

"I know where they're coming from," she said calmly, picking up a goblet of wine and sipping it tentatively. The taste made her grimace slightly, and she silently wished he had the foresight to offer mead as well, which she greatly preferred. "And I know how to cut them off from their... 'cozy' realm of Oblivion."

"Then why haven't you?" he sneered.

"Ignoring the fact that my bandits are outnumbered by daedra four to one? I know the how... but I don't know how to get in."

He bristled lightly. "You mean to cross into their realm, is that it? To try and close their... gate into Skyrim?"

"It's the only way. It's how the Champion of Cyrodiil kept the daedra from flooding Cyrodiil during the Oblivion Crisis." She took another tentative sip of the wine, regarding Orindil closely for a time. Normally, she would have delighted in antagonizing him... but she recognized the need to stay in his good graces for now. Much as she disliked the idea, she would have to form an alliance with the Thalmor if the daedra were to be defeated. That was far easier said than done, of course... no one but the Thalmor liked the Thalmor.

"Isn't it as simple as just stepping through?" he asked. Gone was his mocking air; she smiled faintly, knowing he'd just reached a similar conclusion as she.

"One of my lieutenants has a burned finger that says no. He tried touching one of the columns of light, the one at Mount Anthor. It burned him, and did nothing more. I've been next to one of the columns, as well; they radiate unbelievable heat from up close." She sighed softly. "Unfortunately, Clavicus Vile is very selective as to who gets into his realm and who he keeps out. I know because I was carried into his realm by his... Champion." How she had longed to slander said Champion with a long string of curses instead, but she decided to maintain civility.

"Clavicus Vile. Why would he have any interest in invading Tamriel?" It was not Orindil who asked the question, but rather the female mer sitting to his right. Larian looked at her, noticed she was wide-eyed.

"Good question. I couldn't tell you."

"So to enter, we would have to be invited into his realm... that's what you're telling me?" Orindil was staring at Larian rather fiercely now.

"It's one way. My... my sister, she managed to enter of her own volition, and without Vile's consent." She took a moment to recollect herself. Talking about her younger sister was never easy, especially not when she considered what had likely happened to her.

Neria Ravell had somehow entered Vile's realm of Oblivion with the express purpose of rescuing Larian from his clutches. She may have succeeded in that, too... had she not chosen to wander Vile's realm, searching for Larian. Larian had escaped from Vile's prison and the sewers below, and had been told when it was too late to turn back that Neria was there, as well. Had she known sooner, she'd have waited until Neria found her next to that tree with the odd burning scar in its bark. Had she waited, the daedra would never have invaded Skyrim.

Had she waited, she'd know for a fact that Neria was safe and sound.

"How?" The single worded question was touched with disbelief and came from the female mer.

"Don't know. Both of my lieutenants told me she stuck her sword into the column of light, and was able to step in safely. It was odd to them, though, because Neria tried sticking Galar's war axe into the column, and it emerged burned off at the hilt."

"And this 'Neria' would be...?"

"My sister. Galar is one of my lieutenants."

Silence settled between them for a time. Larian suspected Orindil was slowly arriving at the same conclusion she had.

"Then it isn't your sister that was permitted entry, but her weapon. Something about her weapon was unique." Ah, Larian loved it when she was right. Orindil was staring at her expectantly.

"I believe so. The biggest problems, then, lie with trying to figure out what exactly set her weapon apart from Galar's... and reaching the portal to Vile's realm. Easier said than done, of course, given its location."

"True." They both knew, then, that the citadel had been constructed upon the ashes of Whiterun... but had been expanded to surround the western portal with tall and sturdy - not to mention heavily defended - walls. "So what do you propose, Bandit Queen?" Although he used the title, there was no mocking tone to it. He was taking Larian seriously, then, at least in regards to the daedra.

"We need to band together," she said after a moment's hesitation, "and learn all we can about Whiterun Hold and the citadel." She knew that, in any other situation, he would have likely just laughed at her and told her to get out. The fact that he didn't even scoff at the idea, though, meant he was giving consideration to it.

"This is not an easy decision you are forcing me to make," he growled. "On the one hand, you and your bandits apparently know more about this daedric invasion than we first realized... but on the other hand, you would have the Dominion work alongside criminals."

"You know what they say," she said with a small chuckle. "Desperate times..."

"There's one last thing we'd need," the female piped up. Both Orindil and Larian turned their attention to her, even if the elf's eyes were on Orindil alone. "Knowledge of how exactly the portal was opened, and thus how it can be closed. After all, following up on her mention of the Oblivion Crisis, we know now that..."

As she spoke of sigil stones, Larian thought to herself. It was true that greater understanding of the portal could help them understand how to close it, and she hoped another means of sealing it forever existed. She knew, however, that there was one surefire way to start all the portal already - she knew, because once, Larian herself had been intended to hold it open. The part she didn't want to say, then, was that Neria likely held it open, completely against her will.

"The problem, Sevarie, with referencing the older Gates," Orindil began, "is that they were opened before the statue of Akatosh appeared in the Imperial City. The statue allegedly seals the boundaries between our realm and Oblivion completely, which is why it still remains standing even now." His gaze turned to Larian again. "But you have some idea as to how to shut it already, don't you?"

She sighed softly and closed her eyes. Sometimes, she hated the gods for forcing her into such saddening situations. "We... remove the portal's anchor," she whispered. Her eyes opened to regard his dubious expression. "We rescue my sister from Vile's realm, and hope we can undo the magics he has wrought upon her."

"And if we can't?" he pressed.

She certainly hated the gods right now. "...Then we'd have to kill her."

* * *

 _ **A.N.** \- It's here! It's here! It's here it's here it's here it's-_

 _Sorry._

 _So yes, in case you hadn't realized it quite yet, **Invasion** is the sequel to **Eventide**._

 _Why am I releasing this already, and just when I started getting back into All In? Because frankly, ideas for Invasion have been mulling around a bit longer than my renewed inspiration for All In. That said, I haven't run out of inspiration for All In; I have the next... three jobs planned for Vex and Co., and it's just a matter of writing them out. Invasion has a rough storyline, but isn't quite as concrete just yet. So there will be a focus on All In over Invasion, at least for the foreseeable future._

 _Anyway!_

 _I figured the best way to start Invasion was with an idea of just what Skyrim's become - in effect, a province subjugated by the Thalmor and... well, you read it, I hope. Why have they seized it and held it in the first place? You'll learn that as the story progresses. Now, Orindil is going to have a rather large part in all of this, so I figured introducing him first would be best. Sevarie will also have quite a role - and there is much more to her than even Orindil realizes!_

 _My initial plan had been to reintroduce Elsera in the first chapter of Invasion. My second plan had been to write the story solely from Elsera's perspective, but I found that slightly harder to accomplish, given developments everywhere else. My third plan had been to jump to Elsera after introducing Orindil._

 _And then I was seized by the desire to suddenly write out Orindil's meeting with Larian Ravell, Queen of Skyrim's Bandits, and went with that. It was more emotional, to a degree, than Elsera's reintroduction will be._

 _That said, Orindil us not entering this cooperative effort blind. Thalmor and bandit have a common enemy, and they both realize it's a foe they need to conquer together... ah, but not just them, for they have other allies they'll want/need... Anyway, writing Larian again just made me feel so... I missed it. She's no longer the brash woman who hit first and talked later. She's been humbled by her own unwitting involvement in all this, and desires nothing more than to thwart the forces of Clavicus Vile. She's not completely humbled, though; later, she'll show she's still quite a firebrand._

 _So that pushed Elsera's reintroduction to next chapter. I'm busy mulling over the finer details right now, so it's not nearly as close to completion as yet._

 _But anyway, hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Invasion! As hinted in Eventide, this story is going to be... tragic in places. OCs will die, some of whom you may have become fond of over the course of the... series? I already know who's surviving to this story's bittersweet ending, and who's gone forever. The only hint I'll give is that of my OC roster, only two - TWO - will survive. The rest, one way or another, are going to die over the course of this tale._

 _Just figured I'd give a slight warning in that regard._

 _For now, though, leave a review if you feel so inclined! I respond to each and every one, even if it's simply to thank you. ^^_

 _-Spiritslayer_


	2. Chapter 2

"Elsera!" The sharp voice of an elder Dunmer caused the younger to look up from her work briefly. She heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps closing in on her quarters, and sighed wearily. Her hand lowered the price of charcoal she'd been holding, and rummaged through her pack instead. "Did you-" By the time his voice had reached the entrance to her quarters, she had a grand soul gem resting in her palm and outstretched toward him, not even bothering to spare a glance.

She'd done this before. Master Neloth of Tel Mithryn gave her free room and board, had even deigned to take her on as an apprentice - even if he never taught her anything. He allowed her to do whatever she wanted, no questions asked; all that was expected of her in return was to do the odd job here and there. Typically, this entailed filling grand soul gems with the appropriately sized soul. The first couple of times she'd done it, she had tried interrupting his own work long enough to hand the gem over, but he chastised her for it, saying his work was far too important to interrupt.

Apparently, hers wasn't, because he never had problems interrupting her incessantly. He had even interrupted a rather delicate experiment once, and was not willing to wait for her to finish it.

Within a month of living in Tel Mithryn, she had called him the most selfish, egocentric bastard to have ever tainted the face of Nirn. He had responded only with suspicions that calling him such was her way of saying she hadn't filled the soul gem as he'd requested.

He never thanked her. He never told her she'd done a good job. He never expressed any sort of gratitude. He would just impatiently take the soul gem from her, examine it briefly, then go about his business without another word to her.

This time was no different. She felt the soul gem depart her hand, and immediately brought it back to the charcoal, ready to get back to what was more important than his soul gems.

The charcoal had just barely touched the paper when she heard Neloth ask, "What in blazes are you working on, anyway?" She froze a moment; he had never expressed interest in her work before. The sudden interest, coupled with the unmistakable sound of him stepping closer to her desk, almost made her cover the paper with her arms. She decided against it, though; not only would it seem suspicious if she did, but she also thought that a fresh perspective might help... even if it came from an insufferable Master Wizard. She simply sat back in her seat and turned her eyes to Neloth, now standing next to her, hands tossing the soul gem back and forth, his own eyes upon the paper.

She knew it may certainly look peculiar. There were various diagrams, each of which looked quite like a magical gate or portal. Arrows pointed at seemingly random points in each diagram, and small notations written in Dunmeri were everywhere.

She had never once given up her endeavors to find a way to help Ulfric Stormcloak repel the daedric threat. She hadn't been to Skyrim in a few years, and as such had no idea what the portal to Vile's realm looked like. That meant she had no idea how to identify potential weaknesses.

"That," he commented, reaching out to tap one gated diagram, "won't work. If you try to remove the framework of the gate itself, the portal will destabilize and expand rapidly, certainly much too fast for you to stop. Unless that's what you're after, in which case..." He fell silent after a moment. "That won't work either." He was tapping another diagram, this one of a pillar of light emerging from a metal lattice. "If you're going to seal a portal in metal, you can't use anything other than solid metal. The energy will escape from-"

"Do you have anything constructive to offer?" she interrupted, shooting him a withering glare. "Or are you just going to tell me what is and is not possible?"

"I can do both, and am doing both." He examined the paper closer, sparing Elsera nary a glance. Before she could question his definition of 'constructive', he spoke again. "None of this is to open a portal, is it? You're trying to close one... or several."

"Just one," she muttered.

"Skyrim?"

"Skyrim. I made a promise to the High King that I'd do whatever it took to put a stop to this daedric threat."

"I don't suppose you've seen the portal in question? That would certainly help you find-"

"No, I haven't seen it," she snapped at him. "If I had, I wouldn't have so many different diagrams, now would I?" She was rapidly losing her patience with him constantly treating her like a... a novice.

"Then why are you still here?" he sniffed. "You won't see the portal itself just sitting here in Solstheim."

She shot him the fiercest glare she could muster. She was annoyed when he only looked amused in response.

They both knew that there was a portal in Skyrim - and that it was heavily defended by daedra, as well. She knew he knew, as he had commented on it a few times in the past. They also knew it was exceedingly dangerous to brave the wilderness of Skyrim alone; while the daedra were easily the greatest threat, the Thalmor were also threatening - and deterred many from visiting the province. In fact, word of Thalmor checkpoints denying people entry into the province - unless said visitors had a particularly good reason for entering Skyrim - had reached Solstheim very quickly. For Elsera, who visited Raven Rock, it wasn't really news to her anymore.

"The Thalmor-" she began.

"Work to protect the weak and powerless from the daedra, yes," Neloth cut in; to his credit, Elsera noted the mildly mocking tone in his voice that hinted at his own disapproval of the Thalmor. Did he truly dislike them, then...? "You, however, are not weak and powerless."

"They won't let me enter just because you send me on an errand," Elsera said flatly, sensing where the conversation was going. "If they won't let me enter, I won't see the portal. If I don't see the portal, I'm stuck with..." She gestured wordlessly to the diagrams.

"Then sneak by them."

Elsera wasn't sure she heard him right. She blinked several times, and once the initial shock passed, she studied his face closely, looking for any hints of a joke or sarcasm. Finding none, she shook her head slowly.

"They'd kill me if they found out I-"

"Then don't let them find out." He set the grand soul gem down upon her table, then crossed his arms. "They never found out you snuck out of the College, did they?"

"I don't think they were so concerned with keeping people trying to escape Skyrim _in_ Skyrim," she pointed out. It was true; Elsera had heard stories from Raven Rock about the many citizens of Skyrim who had fled from the province the moment the pillars of light started to converge. "They're more focused on keeping people _out_."

"And who's to say they succeed in that all the time?"

Elsera stared at Neloth a moment longer. There was one question forming at the front of her mind now.

"Why is this so important to you? Why do you want me to slip into Skyrim undetected?"

"Well, as you're well aware, I'm an avid collector of Azra..."

She simply tuned him out from that point forth. She'd done this before: seek some staff or another of a long-dead enchanter, retrieve it from the treasure hoard it was hidden in or pry it from the deathly still fingers of whatever corpse clutched it, and bring it back to him. In short, it was to be another errand - except this time, it seemed it would take her to Skyrim.

 _Lovely_ , she thought bitterly, shaking her head gently. _I'll be lucky to survive the months to come._

* * *

 _These Thalmor take their duties way too seriously_. Were she not hiding from their scouts, the Redguard hidden within the branches of a particularly tall tree would have uttered the words aloud instead of simply thinking them.

Sure, the rumors had suggested the Thalmor maintained strict security checkpoints that kept people out of Skyrim. Sure, she had tried to lie her way in - and been denied. Sure, she had snuck past the laziest guards she could find.

And sure, she had been spotted by one of the more vigilant guards, and was presently running away from them. Or, to be technical, she was hiding from them; she had stopped running, figuring it would work out better if she wasn't on the ground.

She shifted slightly, trying to liberate a small twig from its place lodged against her right thigh. It wouldn't have been as big an issue if she had been wearing her armor, but unfortunately, it tended to glint in the sunlight, and made a little noise besides when worn. Tucked away in her pack, which she had wrapped in her sapphire-blue cloak, her old but trusty mithril armor made far less noise.

 _Why Skyrim, I will never know_ , the Redguard thought bitterly. _He couldn't have sent me to Cyrodiil, or Elsweyr? It just_ had _to be the region currently infested with daedra and Thalmor scum?_

As if the thought were a cue, a high elf clad in the ugly elven armor appeared far below her, eyes scanning the ground ahead of him. She remained motionless for a time, determined not to move even slightly; the one thing she knew about all elves was that, to varying degrees, they had sharper hearing than humans. Her employer certainly did; she had lost count of the times she'd tried muttering her dissent with one decision or another, only for him to chastise her for 'backtalk'.

The elf below her turned his gaze upward, prompting her to inhale sharply. She had no doubt in her mind she would blend in with the foliage somewhat well, but the blue cloak she carried wasn't exactly a natural color. She hoped he was nearsighted and couldn't see her.

Her hopes were dashed as he drew his blade and pointed it up at her. Well, damn; she'd been found. She heard him shout something, but didn't pay much attention to it; she was more preoccupied with trying to figure out how she was going to escape from this predicament. She watched as the high elf looked at the tree's trunk, then began trying to find handholds and footholds he could use to climb the tree. She watched him climb about a few feet up.

Then she watched - in horror, admittedly - as something golden moved as a blur, ripping him away from the tree. She heard the sound of something like nails screeching against metal, then heard the unmistakable sound of metal being punctured. A split-second later, a blood-curdling scream flooded the air, and was later replaced by a rather wet gurgling noise; she imagined he'd just had his throat ripped open, and blood was filling his lungs or... something. Either way, she knew it was likely a grisly scene.

The daedra. She had heard about them, but until now, she had never seen one of them. She wasn't even sure this was one of the daedra that plagued Skyrim nowadays, but what else could it be? This... _thing_... was certainly not native to any province of Tamriel, or so she believed.

She had seen textbook images of one of the daedra Mehrunes Dagon commanded, documented over two hundred ago, in the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis. This golden-colored creature below her resembled one of the savage daedroth to some extents: elongated snout, a tail, long claws. She wasn't sure if the similarities ended there or not, though; she was too high up to see it closely, and was not keen on descending just to get a better look.

The dead elf's scream had drawn attention, as several other Thalmor soldiers burst into the area. The Redguard watched as the elves stepped back in clear fear at the sight before them, and knew the other rumors to be true: the Thalmor were afraid of the daedra plaguing Skyrim. For all their apparent bluster, they were not particularly brave when it came to facing these sinister denizens of Oblivion.

The golden creature snapped its jaws at them and flexed its claws menacingly. Its head turned to face each of the elves slowly; each elf it looked at stepped back instinctively.

One stumbled as he stepped back. That was the only opening the daedra needed. In one second, it was moving as a blur toward the elf; in the next, its claws pierced his armor with a sound like... well, nails rending metal. The elf screamed in agony, though his voice soon failed him, as did his strength; the daedra then withdrew its claws from his chest, holding something in its hand. It threw whatever it was holding into the air, then snapped its jaws over it, causing a wet squelching sound to fill the air.

The Redguard was fairly sure the daedra just ate the elf's heart while he still clung, barely, to life. He wouldn't last, though. In fact, she doubted any of the elves would.

As if the barbaric feast were a trigger for the rest, the other elves charged the daedra, shields raised and weapons readied in defensive stances. The daedra simply snorted derisively at the elves, then spun around in place. Its tail - covered with spikes, she noticed - lashed across the chest of one such elf; the spikes buried itself in his chest, causing him to slump to the ground weakly. A moment later, the elf was being picked up and hurled into the nearest advancing elf. Both fell to the ground clumsily.

One managed to close the distance and strike the daedra's leg with a fierce blow. The daedra howled in pain, then let it turn into a growl of fury. In an instant, the fiend's jowls were clamped upon the elf's neck; in the next instant, blood sprayed from the elf's neck and his head suddenly shifted to a very unnatural angle. Once the daedra let go, the Redguard noticed the elf's head roll off his body, and shivered in horror. Were these daedra truly so powerful that they could literally bite someone's head off...?

Powerful though the daedra was, this particular specimen was surrounded and outnumbered, five to one. Somehow, she didn't think it would matter in the end; sure, it seemed as if the daedra was frail to physical blows, but it was capable of killing its foes swiftly and efficiently. It would sustain injuries, but she suspected it would win.

As she watched the Thalmor batter the daedra with maces, war axes and swords, she noticed its movements slowing a little. The strength of its jaws and claws, however, remained unchanged: one elf had found his sword arm literally ripped from his body, then was thrown aside like a doll; another had tried to crush the daedra's head, but was surprised by the fiend's swift duck and following bite upon the elf's feet; a moment later, the elf was on his back, screaming in agony - his feet completely gone from his legs. A third managed to rain several fierce blows upon the daedra's back with his mace, but one such blow missed as the daedra evaded; the miss cost him his hand, which the daedra removed by biting right through his elbow and severing the limb.

The daedra was wounded, but the Thalmor were rapidly losing the fight. The last two hesitated, clearly weighing their options. They could either try to run and save themselves - possibly opening themselves up to death - or stay and keep fighting, and most likely die for sure. They decided the former was their best course of action, because they began to run away from the daedra.

Apparently, the daedra was not wounded enough to give chase. The Redguard watched it disappear from view, the foliage of other trees hiding it and the fleeing elves from view. She heard several sounds frequently associated with chases through forests: leaves rustling underfoot, rapid footsteps, twigs snapping... She knew the elves failed, though, when she heard the unmistakable sound of metal screeching slightly, telling her their armor had likely been torn apart. She heard the sounds of flesh being pierced, heard cries of pain being cut short. She could only imagine what the daedra did to them to kill them.

The daedra plaguing Skyrim were every bit as lethal as the rumors had painted them to be. She was... quite sickened, in fact. If just one daedra could cause that much damage, how dangerous was the rumored army of them, situated in the ruins of Whiterun?

Her thoughts were snapped back to her present predicament when she saw the golden fiend step back into view, toward the greater number of corpses littering the ground beneath her tree. It bent down over one of the elves for a moment, then picked the elf up and, with strength that did not surprise her anymore, ripped the elf's upper body from his waist. From there, claws began to yank what the Redguard assumed were the elf's innards from his corpse and began to feed the daedra's snout.

It wasn't bad enough she was forced to watch it massacre an entire squad of Thalmor soldiers, but she now had to watch it feed? She was most certainly going to be sick before long; in fact, her stomach was already starting to protest the gruesome display below.

What choice did she have, though, but to watch? What chance did she have of escaping this swift and powerful predator of Oblivion? She watched as it began to gorge itself on the dead elves, turned her gaze from it as the fiend's claws tore muscle from bone. It was grisly... and yet, she couldn't bring herself to keep her attention completely away. The first elf, after all, had seen her in the tree; what if the daedra decided to look around - or, even worse, up?

Her gaze shifted to her cloak-wrapped pack after a time, and she bit her lower lip gently. Stashed within was her time-worn mithril armor, true... but also a pair of daggers that had seen her through some difficult encounters in the past. She highly doubted she could actually give this daedra the slip... if she was to die, she would at least try felling the fiend first.

As quietly and carefully as she could, the Redguard began to unwrap her pack. She heard the faint clink of her mithril armor within, and froze for a moment, sparing a glance down. If the daedra heard the sound, it didn't register it, for it continued its gruesome feast. She turned her attention back to the pack and carefully began to open it, trying not to make more sound than necessary.

To her credit, she succeeded in this, for the most part. She had managed to carefully withdraw one of her daggers from her pack without making too much noise, and had even managed to draw it from its sheath. The daedra continued to gorge itself as she readied her blade.

Then it lifted its head and glanced around. She knew exactly why it did, too; her mithril gauntlets had chosen just _that_ moment to shift in her pack, clinking rather audibly against her chestguard. She decided now was the time to strike, and without much concern for her safety - she was probably going to die anyway - she allowed herself to fall from the tree, dagger poised to stab the daedra through the head.

At first, she thought she would get the stealthy kill after all; she had fallen halfway down and the fiend still hadn't glanced up. That changed, though, as she was mere seconds from landing the possibly fatal blow; its head turned upward to see her, and a brief growl of surprise and anger escaped its throat. Its jaws opened wide, anticipating the dagger thrusting down through its head - and was more than prepared to snap her arm off with its jaws.

It took her but a split-second to adjust her arm so that her dagger instead carved a deep gash in the side of the daedra's mouth, all the way down to the base of its neck. The daedra roared in agony and collapsed to the ground, its long claws ripping carelessly at the wound she had inflicted. She landed on top of the fiend, groaning in pain as the impact winded her and left her feeling rather sore. She was rolled onto the ground as the daedra thrashed away from her, still clutching rather pointlessly at the severe - hopefully fatal - gash.

She watched as the daedra's lethal claws, capable of piercing armor and ripping out hearts, slipped too far into the wound, watched as the fiend seized briefly... then collapsed seemingly lifeless. She froze for a moment, not daring to move. Was it pretending to be dead, or had it actually - and, admittedly, rather humorously - killed itself with its own claws?

After several long moments of holding still and holding her breath, she decided it was safe to move and breathe again. The daedra hadn't moved. It was dead.

Deciding not to leave anything to chance, she plunged her dagger through its skull, rather surprised at how easily the blade sank through its scales and the bone beneath. For all its agility and raw power, it seemed as if it was not meant to take a beating, and could die very easily if struck with a fierce enough blow. She tucked that tidbit away for the future; it was very valuable knowledge to have.

Once the adrenaline of her first daedra kill had worn off, the reek of the carnage around her reminded her of her present situation, and she fought the urge to glance about. She had to run away, and fast. No doubt more Thalmor would eventually find this gruesome scene themselves; she did not want to be anywhere nearby when they did.

Futile though it would be against the daedra, she nonetheless began to remove her mithril armor from her pack and began to don it over her simple clothes. As she did so, she examined the daedra closer.

It did look somewhat like a daedroth, but only in places. This daedra had rows of razor-sharp teeth, whereas she was pretty sure daedroth simply had one row. Its claws were long and slightly hooked, as if they were designed for shredding more so than piercing - but they weren't so curved that they couldn't be used for such, as it had proven. Its tail was lined with spikes whose tips were as sharp as needles; that certainly explained how it managed to wound the unfortunate elf whose chest it lashed. Its chest and back appeared to be clad in thick scales, almost as if they were intended as armor; she stopped putting her armor on long enough to poke these scales with her dagger. To her surprise, the 'armor' was as soft and pliable as human skin, and when she pressed the dagger a little harder, she found the tip of her blade sinking into its body rather easily. Was that normal for this variety of daedra? It was clad in scales... did it shed its skin, like snakes did? If so, had she encountered one of these deadly predators in a more vulnerable state than most?

If that was the case, was it truly so easy to kill these fiends, or were they more resilient prior to shedding their skins?

She shuddered in horror; it was not a thought she wanted to entertain. She hastily finished with her armor and placed her daggers at her waist, then donned her sapphire-blue cloak. Her pack found its place beneath her cloak and upon her back, and she cast one last glance at the slain daedra.

"Why Skyrim?" Mianna sighed, shaking her head. "Of all the places my coworker could have disappeared in..." She grumbled incoherently under her breath as she stepped away from the grisly scene around her.

This was either going to be an adventure she'd prefer to skip or the death of her. She did not want to find out either way, but steeled herself for what was undoubtedly to come.

* * *

 _ **A.N.** \- No, I haven't died. No, I haven't forgotten about this or All In. Yes, I have a new computer. Yes, I have had writer's block._

 _Anyway!_

 _I very highly debated reintroducing Elsera in the first chapter, but decided the second would be... better? That being said, I do feel as if her segment was a little weaker. Even so, I do also feel like it's the best way to get her going. Where would she go after the College of Winterhold 'fell' to the Thalmor? Wherever the Augur told her to, of course - and, from there, to a place where magic is... easier to study. Not that Master Neloth is an easy wizard to work with/for..._

 _For those not in the know, Mianna the Redguard made an appearance for a couple of chapters in the story **I Am Dragonborn**. There's a little more background there, but not much else. For me, the focus was more on showing why she's on the run from the Thalmor, and perhaps more importantly (and maybe more impressively, let me know what you thought!), showing just how dangerous one of the daedra plaguing Skyrim can be... as well as give a scope of how dangerous the entire province is. Sure, they're centered in Whiterun, but what's to stop them from roaming around? I know I didn't specify a point of entry; that's kind of intentional, since I feel like it's just a small technicality. If you MUST have a location, then Falkreath Hold, near the border pass to the west-southwest of Falkreath itself. Leads into... I want to say it leads into Hammerfell, but I'd have to check a map to confirm._

 _So yes. New computer is awesome. It, of course, also came with the (actually expected) side effect of having a huge case of writer's block. See, now that I have a keyboard again, my mind is racing to type out all sorts of story ideas... and no one thought can hold the forefront of my mind for particularly long, unfortunately. I sit down to write, and my mind wanders to something else; I go to write that, and another thought takes the wheel. Maddening to say the least, but yes. I managed to break it by looking over the first draft of this chapter, and picking up where I (felt I) left off._

 _My job is keeping me fairly busy, too. My jobs, actually. One more than the other, but by the time I get home, I'm just feeling too tired to write and want to sleep. Days off? I sleep. (Or play Fire Emblem Fates, but I can go on and on and on about that amazing game another time.) That's not to say I like working my 'primary' job anymore; I don't. It's hard to care about a job when every last one of my coworkers - several managers included - just don't give a fuck about anything... to include health code violations (and this is a restaurant!). I'm definitely going to be looking for new work unless shit changes at this job, and REAL fast-like._

 _All In! I do have the next chapter in progress, but I've hit a speed bump. Do I take it the way I wanted to (and, in so doing, include something of an 'awkward' moment)? Or do I take it the... 'easier' way and further complicate the lives of Vex and Vess just a little? Both have their merits, and both have their downsides. I'm trying to decide which is best for the general direction of the story... but anyway. I haven't forgotten about it._

 _So yes, in summary, Elsera is back, Mianna is back. My (primary) job sucks, writer's block sucks. All In is at a fork in the road, and I don't know which path to choose._

 _Fun times._

 _-Spiritslayer_


End file.
